


last words of a shooting star

by atermoiements



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Afterlife, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Religious Discussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:07:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21575761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atermoiements/pseuds/atermoiements
Summary: "“Oh.” Claude said, his eyes running over the page. “I suppose I never considered you to be especially devout.”“I wouldn’t say that I am,” corrected Lysithea, quickly pulling the book back towards her. It wasn’t a lie, either. Her relationship with the Goddess was confusing, fluctuating— she utilized the “gifts” bestowed upon her, but would such an ambivalent Goddess allow her children to suffer needlessly? Without need for righteous divine intervention? Her stomach turned at the memory of blank white walls and rooms that were drenched in the thick stench of death, cold wrinkled hands and low voices carrying over the sound of her labored breathing and the metallic clink of scalpels against a bloodied tray."
Comments: 7
Kudos: 30





	last words of a shooting star

The flames cast from the library’s candles had become so dim, they hardly offered any help to Lysithea as she continued to read late into the night. In the wake of war (and the monastery’s subsequent abandonment), it had become a dusted over tomb; a final resting place for all the volumes housed within its shelves. Some had been rifled through and quickly thrown aside — there was very little to gain here for the looters who had made their way through Garreg Mach in the five years since the war had begun. 

Lysithea had stationed herself at her favorite table, in the very same seat where she had poured over text after text; where she had even (on occasion) fallen fast asleep. It was something of a small comfort, the nostalgia that wrapped itself around Lysithea’s shoulders as she reminisced; it served as a reminder of when things still had that _tension_ , the clock in her head that never ceased ticking— but it was simpler. Easier, even, to lose herself to the idle folly of schoolyard antics and forget the uncertain expiration date that hung itself, coarse and heavy, like knotted ropes around her neck. 

Claude’s knuckles knocked against the wooden table twice, and Lysithea realized with a sudden jerk that she had nearly fallen asleep _again._ A hint of drool from her cheek left a spot on her current page, making the ink bleed just enough to embarrass her. 

“I’m assuming you’re reading a nice little bedtime story?” Claude winked as he took a seat across from her, chin resting upon his hand. “Was there a really good ‘happily ever after’? Please, feel free to indulge in dishing all the highlights.” 

Lysithea frowned, hoping that she was discreet enough as she lifted her hands to her eyes — both to wipe away the sleepiness that still lingered, and to make sure the hint of drool still on the edge of her mouth wasn’t visible. If Claude saw through it, he made no snide remarks on the matter, more content to peer over the edge of her book.

“No,” Lysithea replied, groaning as she stretched her arms skyward. “I _wasn’t_ reading any fairy tales, and I would _prefer_ if you wouldn’t immediately begin teasing me after an unexpected nap.”

“What!” replied Claude, his smile eager. “There’s nothing wrong with indulging in a good fairy tale. Sometimes it’s nice to lose yourself to a quaint happy ending. The prince saves the princess, the evil dragon is defeated — what’s not to enjoy?” He pulled the book to him then, spinning it around so as to read it proper. His eyebrows raised as his playful smile faded. 

* * *

_The goddess cares for and protects all that is beautiful in this world. The goddess will never deny the splendors of love, affection, joy, peace, faith, kindness, temperance, modesty, or patience._

_Follow in her example and, in doing so, abide her laws._

* * *

“Oh.” Claude said, his eyes running over the page. “I suppose I never considered you to be especially devout.”

“I wouldn’t say that I am,” corrected Lysithea, quickly pulling the book back towards her. It wasn’t a lie, either. Her relationship with the Goddess was confusing, fluctuating— she utilized the _“gifts_ ” bestowed upon her, but would such an ambivalent Goddess allow her children to suffer needlessly? Without need for righteous divine intervention? Her stomach turned at the memory of blank white walls and rooms that were drenched in the thick stench of death, cold wrinkled hands and low voices carrying over the sound of her labored breathing and the metallic clink of scalpels against a bloodied tray.

“I’m just... _curious_.” The word “curious” hung in the air, floating about with motes of dust barely catching the glow of candlelight. 

“Curious about what in particular?” Claude had leaned forward, both hands interlaced under his chin. Lysithea hesitated, her nose scrunching up against her face. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” she started, “If you mock me for this — I’ll make sure your decapitated head is hanging from my hands faster than you can say “ _j_ _ust kidd—“_

“—Lysithea!” Claude held up a hand to stop her mid threat. “I’m sorry. I know I tease you a lot, but you can talk to me. Sincerely!” He gave a small smile, one without any hint of mischief or duplicity. Lysithea found herself wringing her hands under the table, and tried to ignore the way they felt like that deathly inescapable cold, despite the mild temperature of the room. 

“Do you think there’s such a thing as an...afterlife?”

Claude leaned back in his seat, balancing precariously on the chair’s two back legs, hand thoughtfully rubbing against the side of his face. The silence that stretched between them made Lysithea tense in anticipation; an undeniable panic rising to the top of her throat as she opened her mouth to excuse herself from the conversation entirely — when Claude suddenly tipped his chair back forward. The resounding creak of wood and slam against the floors could’ve been enough to wake the dead. 

“I don’t think that such a place exists.” He didn’t look at Lysithea as he spoke, his eyes upwards at the ceiling. “Although, those who _do_ believe in such a place aren’t necessarily “wrong” in my eyes, either. I can understand the appeal of a Goddess who greets you at death’s door with warm, inviting arms.”

Lysithea nodded, ignoring the stone in the base of her stomach. 

“I suppose I would agree,” she said, but her voice sounded flat and lifeless - less of an agreement than it was a resignation. 

“I envy those who can believe in it,” Claude added, eyes searching somewhere beyond dusty bookshelves and crumbling monastery walls.

“You envy them, despite not sharing their beliefs?” Lysithea squinted at him in response. 

“I envy their ignorance. Their bliss. Death is….” Claude closed his eyes tight for a moment before reopening them, releasing a sigh that made his shoulders stutter. 

“I’m terrified of dying. But it has to happen. Whether that be tomorrow, or in fifty years, there’s no avoiding it or outrunning it. I imagine that it’s comforting to believe that there’s something waiting after.” _Or someone,_ Lysithea adds in her mind, thinking only of the ghosts that haunted her: pale hands and pink eyes and hair bleeding jet-black into white like ink across the page. Dangerous thoughts of embracing them, of holding their hands in her own made its home in the base of her throat, taunting her with the afterimage of closure, the false impression of relief; that even if they suffered so much, and so needlessly, they would still be waiting to greet her when she finally came home. The clock would stop ticking. There would be no need to worry, not anymore. She pressed a hand to her forehead, dipping her chin downwards, preventing Claude from seeing the tears that had come uninvited, hot and searing against the cool skin of her cheeks. 

“Would you think it foolish of _me_ if I wished there was something after?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, thick with tears as her words trembled. 

Claude suddenly stood from his chair, crossing the distance to kneel besides her, pulling Lysithea's hands into his own. This was no longer the man who had teased her incessantly, who had taken delight in her chagrin; this was her friend, her _leader_ , all the light casual airiness gone from his tone. 

“Lysithea,” he began, “I would _never_ think of you as a fool. The definition of the word can’t come even close to describing someone as intelligent, passionate, and _bright_ as you. Nothing, in my mind, can ever change that. You know that, don’t you?” 

Her eyes had become glued to her lap, but as she raised her head, Lysithea could see the way Claude’s eyes had begun to shine, wet with tears as well. He still retained an advantage over her; Lysithea berated herself for the way her nose had begun to run and how her shoulders shook outside of her control with each shaky breath. 

“There is no shame in wanting comfort. You don’t need to worry that I, or anyone else, will mock you for that.” 

Lysithea paused before responding, focusing only on the way her hands had slowly begun to warm when held by his. 

“I’m so _scared_ of what’s to come.” Her voice came out in small sharp segments, punctuated by phlegm-induced coughs. “I’m terrified that I’m not...smart enough, or strong enough, even though I am constantly, _constantly_ at this…” She let herself trail off, the words flowing faster than she could feasibly stop them. “I’m tired, and I don’t know when I’ll run out of time. I don’t know what I’ll do.” 

It was the most defeated she had ever allowed herself to sound in the company of someone else, let alone Claude. Lysithea pressed her lips into a thin line as she willed herself to stop crying; to pull any pieces of dignity she had left together long enough to resemble something structurally secure. Claude squeezed her hands in his own, his thumbs warm and ungloved as they brushed against her frigid palms. 

“I can’t tell you when that time will come. But, I can promise you, anything that I can do to help you— what _any_ of us can do to help you— we will. Without question or hesitation.” He put a hand on her shoulder, gaze hopeful and face streaked with tears of his own. Pulling a hand away from hers, he wiped his own face and gave a small, embarrassed laugh. 

“Who will I tease without you? _Lorenz?_ He wouldn’t make it nearly as fun.” Despite the airiness that returned to his tone, the nonchalance in his chuckle; it was as if for the first time, Lysithea felt a wall had been torn down, pushed apart to pieces, a crack of something else shining through his veneer. Claude stood, punctuating the gesture by closing the still open book, drawn to his full height as he offered her his hand. 

“You are a blazing star across the sky of Fodlan, Lysithea. We won’t let that light be so easily extinguished.” 

“Do you mean that?” Lysithea made an attempt to wipe her own face, using her sleeve in as delicate a manner as possible, allowing him to pull her to her feet with her free hand. 

“I promise.” 

* * *

Gronder field was painted in swaths of red, deeper and darker than Edelgard’s regalia as the Empire’s army continued to surge forward. Against it all was the sharp purple of Lysithea’s dress, her hair flying wildly around her. The Alliance had done their best to hold ground, and managed it successfully; but the Imperial army had the benefit of years of prior preparation and training, and a general as clever as she was ruthless. Lysithea had done her part, beating back enemies and covering the backs of her companions as they strategically danced between offensive maneuvers and defensive retreats. But there was still too much to see, so much to watch as ally and enemy troops cut against the other, barely discernible by uniform alone. 

An archer found his way into her line of sight, bow strung taut as the two made eye contact across bodies of the fallen. His arrow seemed to travel at an immeasurable speed, closing the distance to Lysithea’s chest faster than she can register the pain, sharp and agonizing against her chest. Crimson roses bloomed down her sternum, staining her hands as they desperately fumbled and scratched at the arrow protruding outwards from her. 

As she fell backwards, she thought, _you promised,_ but Claude was across the battlefield, his voice hoarse as he shouted commands. It wasn’t until she felt the unforgiving ground beneath her that Claude turned his gaze in her direction, his face frozen in shock from atop his wyvern.

The sounds of the battlefield begin to fade to static white noise. 

* * *

She dreamt she could see the faces of her siblings, pairs of identical pink eyes that mirrored her own looking down at her as she lay there, their faces bright and cheeks rounded with _life_ and warmth. However, when she tried to push herself upwards, to throw herself into their embrace, there was a weight tethering her to the ground; as if warm water were being poured over her, a calm washing over the pain in her chest. Lysithea had almost forgot that it had hurt.

The sounds of the battlefield assaulted her all at once, muddled and confusing, and as her eyes refocused, she could see the faces— not of the ghosts of her siblings, but rather, of an incredibly panicked Marianne, her hand to Lysithea’s wound. Marianne’s voice sounded leagues away as she repeated, _Are you alright? Please, please be alright_ — Lysithea could hear Lorenz shouting as if from underwater for Leonie to lift her onto the back of his steed (“ _Quickly, but gently, hurry Leonie!” “Stop shouting and focus on calming your horse, Lorenz!”)_ , the others busy beating back the enemies that had decided to swarm in the presence of a weak spot. 

From his position in the sky, Claude smiled down at them, his shouts ringing over the sounds of clashing swords. 

“I told you, Lysithea. I promise. _”_

**Author's Note:**

> i really just wanted to write something about lysithea and the pressure she's constantly applying to herself, and the guilt that she might feel for wanting to believe that there's something better waiting after death, since it's...kinda constantly on her mind!!!
> 
> i don't ship claude and lysithea but damn they're intellectual bffs. okay thank you love you bye


End file.
